Beginnings Of Insanity
by Pukkina
Summary: It has often been said that one’s future depends on the home they were raised in. In many cases, however, this judgement is often false. In Jackson Rippner’s, it was true. May be M later on for violence and Jackson's extreme twisted thoughts. Now finished
1. Outsiders

It has often been said that one's future depends on the home they were raised in. In many cases, however, this judgement is often false. In Jackson Rippner's, it was true.

Were his parents somewhat of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, fixated with a life of crime and a passion for misdemeanors, simply finding it amusing to name their son after a sociopathic murderer? No.

Drunks, maybe, with a habit for drugs and steroids, what some might conform to calling "trailer park trash"? A father, an alcoholic coming home late at night to beat his wife and son? No.

And last, maybe they were the preppy, upper-classmen who settled for nothing less than perfection from their children? Again, the answer is anything but yes.

Jackson Rippner didn't have parents.

Some people, adults, mostly, justified him as an angel sent from heaven. Not the kids, though. He was on the opposite end of that spectrum, closer to satanic, a view he much rather chose to see from. They never saw him coming, the adults, they never could anticipate that he was misbehaving unlike any normal child was. Stabbing a child in the arm with a plastic knife was translated to bullying of Jackson for his name.

"_Christina, we need to get that cleaned up."_

"_Christina, a child was sick in the third quarter."_

"_Christina..."_

"_Christina..."_

"_Just shut up for a few minutes," she said, garbage bag in hand as she stepped onto the New York city sidewalk. "I'm busy."_

_The young woman, aged only by the thin lines of tension on her face and her internal dilemmas worked as a janitor, or a custodian, whatever it may be translated to, at the Blessed Keep orphanage in Manhattan. She was often stressed, being one of the only two cleaners at the large house for children. Often she was mocked for her subordinate position but she took the insults graciously. After all, she could take advantage of the free staff lodging at the orphanage or she could find someway to make a cardboard box more welcoming._

_Christina cursed as she stepped into a puddle. She hadn't seen it, the streetlight clicking out overhead as she tripped._

"_Damn," she cursed quietly as she pulled herself back up, the seat of her pants soaked. Just more ridicule, especially from some of the teenaged residents. The orangish light of the streetlight flickered slightly back for a minute and she saw something directly in front of her. A steady drizzle began to fall again._

_Curiosity killed the cat. A phrase she'd always thought highly of...until something told her to further inspect the bundle. _

_Looking back, it probably would have been better if she'd left it for dead._

_A baby, no more than several weeks old, was fast asleep, surprisingly, inside the bundle. Parts of the blanket was soaked but the tiny infant was completely dry. She should've taken that as a sign something fishy was occurring, too, but she didn't. _

_Something in her heart twinged as she lifted the light child and pressed him against her. A small, wrinkled and damp note was tucked inside the blanket. She pulled it out and read it, the words slightly blurred._

_Couldn't afford to keep him. Raise him. Name him Jackson. Jackson Rippner. Like his dad._

_The baby awoke and began to cry. _

"_Shh," she consoled him. "Sh, Jack. It's okay. I'm here."_


	2. Shopping For Blood

I wasn't sure exactly what the limits are for M, but I decided to up the rating just in case. Enjoy...kind of. :)

Warning for Violence and Extreme Sick Thoughts

Jackson flipped his hair and flashed a smile into the mirror. Which mood should he choose today? Cocky? Mischievous? Don't-give-a-shit? There were, after all, more to choose from than the variety of Mr. Potato Head's faces. He wanted to appear full of charisma for his business meeting, wanted to make a good impression on his boss so he would give him a half-decent job this time. The Machinov job had been anything less than entertaining. Jackson preferred the more trying jobs, the one that invited positions of cunning rather than those of brawn. He wanted a "fun" job, one that would be more like putting together a jigsaw puzzle instead of going to the shooting range. Fun.

He finally settled on cocky with a hint of dedication. He tried it out in front of the bathroom mirror and, satisfied, clicked off the bathroom light. He'd practiced these faces so often. It was only necessary, in a job like his, to always be able to put on a facade, no matter what the occasion. It was also one of the reasons he'd slid by so easily as a child and young adult.

"_Jackson...I don't want to upset you...but I need to know. Did you hurt Tim?" Christina's face was anxious and concerned._

_Jackson simply smiled calmly. "No."_

_A pause. "He says you did."_

"_I greased the floor of his room with cooking oil," he responded coolly_. _"I don't believe I should be held responsible for any accidents he may have had." _

"_Well...why would you do that?"_

"_Simple."_

"_Would you...care to elaborate?"_

"_He called me Jack. Jack the Ripper."_

"_I see. Well, then, back to class. Jackson."_

_He had been six at the time. Christina hadn't quite known how to handle him but she regarded his misbehavior in a nonchalant air. After all, childish pranks weren't unusual for one of his age or intelligence. _

_She didn't realize then how she should have nipped them in the bud to begin with._

Jackson lifted his briefcase from the office table and opened it gently. A knife glistened from the inside, its blade sharp and shiny. He lifted it and regarded it carefully, smiling contentedly.

Killing had always been what one might call a hobby. Pastime, passion, no matter what it was, Jackson had it. It gave him the strangest sense of power to drain the life of another. It was merely amusing to harm them...but to make them stop breathing, their hearts stop beating, now that...that was another story entirely.

"_Jack Ripper," Tim's voice was mocking. "Weak, scrawny Jack Ripper the orphan."_

_Jackson regarded him coolly. "Shut your mouth."_

"_Why? You're no match for me." He was partially right. At ten Tim was at least twice the nine-year-old's size. Why should he be intimidated? _

"_The mind has more power than any of your physical capabilities," he said gracefully. The other boy had given him a blank look. Leave it to Jackson to have the vocabulary of one twice his age. He hadn't had to say more. At least, not then._

_The other children didn't know about the secret stockpile of weapons he had hidden in his room, in a box under his bed. He was proud, he'd made them himself, out of various items found around the orphanage. Items that any other child or even adult would deem useless. But they weren't._

_He also had several knives he'd stolen from the cafeteria when on kitchen duty. Kitchen duty, a chore assigned to him for his various misdemeanors. Not that he minded, it was his chance to steal cutlery to add to his collection of tools. _

Oh, how pleasant it had been, that first kill, Jackson looked fondly back on that memory. He'd had it coming to him, really he had. None of the children had ever expected. At that age the only real weapon, they believed, was a gun. But Jackson didn't need guns. They were below him, a weapon reserved for those wishing to leave big, brash messages. Jackson preferred to work in stealth, dealing his blows as his victims screamed for mercy. With a gun one just shot and ran or got caught. But that was not the case with any of the torture implements Jackson used. Not the case at all.

"_Jackson," Tim's voice had been strained and fearful._

"_Deciding to use my real name now that I have the upper hand, eh?" Jackson's voice had been mocking, the knife blade glinting in the darkness of Tim's room. "Weak."_

"_I-I-Jackson, I-didn't mean any of it," Tim tried to laugh. "It...it was all, just-a joke, buddy, you know? Just a joke."_

"_A joke?" Jackson repeated his words slowly and carefully. "Hm. Is that so?"_

"_Yeah," he could almost feel the boy's relief pulsing through his veins. "Yeah. Haha, man, can't you take a joke?"_

_And then he pounced. The knife slid easily into flesh, so quickly Tim hadn't had time to scream or say more. Jackson had calmly backed away from the slowly pulsating, slowly dying body. He wiped the blood free from his hands on the boy's shirt._

"_Yes. I can."_

That he could. He'd proven it...and he'd proven something else, too. He'd proven that he wasn't going to be Jack the Ripper. He would leave his own legacy as a feared assassin, dreaded killer named Jackson Rippner.


	3. Tell Her Tonight

He never felt any remorse for the path he'd chosen to follow. Jackson knew that by doing this, by being a murderer, would be the only way he'd ever gain any respect in this city. Sure, he could always become a doctor, or a teacher, or some shit like that, but really, who wanted to go through all the trouble of college and job applications, anyway? This was just as easy...and satisfying. He loved watching people cringe as he looked at them. Smiled his cold smile. The fear had begun soon after he'd killed Tim. Students saw him in the hall and they were genuinely afraid. They knew he'd done it...but the only people who really mattered...where the adults, the caregivers, the teachers. And they were too naive to guess. No, not their precious angel Jack, sent from the heavens above on that stormy night...

"_I-I know who did it," Sam whispered to Christina. The young girl's face muscles twitched anxiously. "I know who killed Tim."_

"_Who, Sam, sweetie?" Christina pressed eagerly. "Who?"_

"_J-Jack Rippner," she stuttered. "But don't tell him I told!"_

"_How do you know?" Christina frowned._ _It didn't seem likely. Jackson was michievous, that was sure, but he wasn't...a killer, was he? He grew so upset at the taunts of his namesake that he surely wouldn't follow his path, would he? She truly did not want to believe anything of the sorts about Jackson..._

"_I just do, Ms. Smith. He does it every time. He's...screwed up," the girl's voice quavered nervously._

"_Sam, I can't judge this based on your assumptions," Christina said forcefully, standing up. "I think you had better leave now."_

"_No! I'm not lying!" the girl continued to cry as she left the room. Christina shut the door behind her and leaned against it, sighing. Why was everybody so hard on Jackson? She loved him like a son, and he practically was. She had found him after all, he'd been sent to her like a blessing. After she'd discovered him lying in that puddle the orphanage had rewarded her with a promotion. Now she was third in charge of disciplinarian actions. Still quite subordinate, but at least she didn't have to carry a dust mop everywhere she went. _

_Sam nervously tiptoed down the hallway to her locker. She needed to be getting back to class. She'd certainly missed enough of French, after her scheduled appointment with Ms. Smith. __A hand on her shoulder startled her. She turned around and dropped her French book. It scuttled down the hall on the smooth floor. _

"_Why, hello, Sam," Jackson Rippner said cheerfully. He was eleven at the time._

"_H-hi," she tried to sound nonchalant. "What's up?"_

"_Oh, Sam, I think you know," he grew angry and slammed her against the locker. She was shocked at how strong he really was. His muscles were no match for his wiry frame._

"_N-no, I don't, Jack, please, what," she stuttered nervously. His eyes glinted coldly._

"_I believe you've been spreading assumptions about me, Sam," he said coolly. "Now, those are never good things to make, especially a girl of your age, your emotion based female driven assumptions."_

"_What?" she asked quickly._

"_I overheard your little heart-to-heart with Christina," he snarled, his grip sliding to her throat. "That wasn't very smart."_

"_I-I-" she stuttered at a loss for words. "W-what are you going to do?"_

"_I think you and I know very well, Sam," he said mockingly._

"_You-you're going to-kill me?" _

"_Why don't you just wait and see," was all she heard before she was gutted. Jackson smiled casually and cleaned his knife blade with a handkerchief, then restored it to his pocket. He returned to class, whistling gleefully._

Jackson smiled sweetly at the recollection as he got in his car. Fun times. It really had only been a matter of time before the organization found him.

"_Rippner."_

"_You know my name."_

"_We know a lot about you."_

_The nineteen-year-old's temper raged. "You keeping tabs on me?"_

"_You could say that," Martin's voice was cool and collected. _

"_What do you want?"_

"_You."_

"_Beg your pardon?"_

_Martin removed his glasses and sighed. "We want you to work for us."_

"_You terrorists, are something?"_

"_You could say that. Governmental overthrows, assassinations, you get the picture."_

"_Well, what do you want me for?"_

"_We want you to be an assassin."_

"_Why would I do that?"_

"_We can already see, Mr. Rippner, that you have a sick passion for killing. Not that there's anything wrong with that, most of the Organization have sicker delights than that...but we like it. You are a born machine, you have a gift."_

"_Thanks."_

"_Yes. But again, why would I do that?"_

"_Pays well."_

"_How much are we talking about here?"_

"_At least six figures a job."_

"_Fine. When can I start?"_

"_Glad to see you're so enthusiastic. Here. First job, meet at this location, alone. Do you care about ever seeing your friends again?"_

"_What friends?"_

"_Well, that Christina woman for one."_

"_Please. She's a mere acquaintance who I didn't feel like murdering."_

"_I see. Well, that's good, because basically, Rippner, you need to disappear. For this job to work you need to become a new person."_

"_Why's that?"_

"_The government finds out that you're a threat, they trace it back to us, we get shut down, you either go to jail or we kill you. Simple as that. Plus, Jack, we're giving you the charming job."_

"_Beg your pardon?"_

"_Charming, Jack, charming. Conning innocent accomplices into assisting us with the job so they get framed, not us."_

"_Fine. Just one thing."_

"_What's that?"_

"_Don't ever. Ever. Call me Jack."_


	4. Well That Was Easy

Jackson knocked loudly on his boss's door and sighed. This was his least favorite part of the job. Going in to see the boss. The stressed boss. The pressuring boss. The asshole boss.  
He entered the room and instantly every hair stood up on the back of his neck. Maybe that was because everybody who entered the room was frisked by security. Jackson grumbled loudly.  
"Nice job on the Krakov job, Jack," his boss, Matthews, said, crisply and hoarsely. "Although I really don't think you had to go as so far as to murder the bitch's sister."  
"Trust me, it was," Jackson said in disgust. "She fucking pushed me down the stairs."  
"I see. Anyway, are you ready for another job? I do know how weak you are, after all...you probably need some...recuperation time."  
Jackson glowered at him. "No, I don't," he responded coolly. Even though he did.  
"Fine. Here," a smooth manila folder was thrust into his hands. He blinked. Another girl he had to kill?  
He voiced his thoughts.  
"No. She's going to help you." Jackson raised an eyebrow. This was a new one.  
"So...I'm not killing anyone this time?" he tried to conceal the disappointment in his voice.  
"No. Unless there are...complications." Jackson nodded. There was hope yet.  
He rose, tucking the folder under his arm as he strode out into the bright sunlight. It stung his eyes and he winced. Jackson had often been compared to a vampire, in the sense that he was inside most of the day, resulting in his light skin color.  
Jackson began whistling as he got into his car and clicked on the radio.  
"Miami governor Gregory William's daughter was murdered brutally today..."  
Jackson grinned.

_"The name's Jackson," he smiled innocently at her. She batted her eyelashes in a cat-like way that made him want to puke.  
"I'm Wendi," she said in a sickening sweet tone. "With an 'I'. Maybe you've heard of me. Wendi Williams?"  
"Oh, yes," Jackson gritted his teeth but still played the facade. "Of course. Although, I must say, you are way more beautiful in person than on television."  
She giggled girlishly and waved her hand. "Oh, my, aren't you the charmer!"  
"Of course."  
It had been hard at first. Not that she didn't like him, or something...she clung to him like gum on a chair. It was annoying and pathetic, really. It was hard trying not to kill her instantly.  
But he couldn't. She had to trust him 100 before he could carry out the operation. Otherwise it would be a flop. And misdemeanors were not handled gently in the Organization.  
Three weeks. Three weeks he "dated" Wendi with an 'I'. And finally...finally it was time for the fun._

Jackson tapped his fingers jubilantly as he waited at the red light intersection. He couldn't wait to get home and review the files. Part of the fun of the job in itself was the research.

_"Wendi, sweetheart?" Jackson fought to conceal the malice and utter delight in his voice. "Jackson!" she squealed, thrusting herself into his arms. He grunted under her weight and set her down. "What's up?"  
"I have a surprise for you," he grinned mischievously at her. That wasn't a lie. Her death would shock her.  
"Ooh..." she squeaked, allowing him to lead her to his car. She sat down, playfully toying with her straw-like blonde hair. Jackson began to drive deep into the wooded part of the city.  
She began to look nervous and he chewed his lip. "Jackson, baby, where are we going?"  
He just winked at her. Right. Like he would ever get it on with that bimbo.  
After several more minutes of driving in silence he stopped the car. They were, in all of its glory, in the middle of nowhere. He opened her door like a gentleman. It was, after all, the very least he could do.  
Jackson led her to a clearing completely invisible from the roadside. He gently pressed her up against a tree and kissed her. He felt her smile and he grinned inwardly. So far, so good..  
A few moments later he sneakily reached to his back beltloop and withdrew his knife, twisting it into her gut. She screeched once and then fell silence.  
He smiled as he hoisted her over his shoulder. Now time to make sure her mutilated body got to Daddy.  
Jackson drove for a bit, finally ending up back at her house. He didn't think anyone was home, and let himself in with the spare key Wendi had given up. The bitch still lived with her parents.  
A sudden noise behind him startled him as he wrote a note out to Gregory Williams. He spun around and saw a girl, her features quite similar to Wendi's but more hawk-like and young, staring at the body with a mixture of shock and horror.  
"Hello," he said cautiously. She looked at him a moment, eyes wide, instantly darting upstairs. He cursed and followed her. Damn.  
A chair connected with the edge of his head as he rounded the corner. It drew blood and made him see stars but he withdrew his knife and kept going.  
As he came around the next curve she was directly in front of his face. Before he could react, she moved on his unstability and shoved him hard in the chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs.  
He wasn't down long. His lip split open and his back throbbed, but he pulled himself back up and instantly dove at her. She hadn't counted on this and the knife slid easily into her neck, instantly paralyzing her vocal chords. She kicked out several times but within moments she was dead. Jackson just grinned sadistically and wiped his knife free, then continued to write the note.  
Ah, the joy of sisters._

As soon as Jackson arrived back at his apartment he opened the file.   
Lisa Reisert.  
He was shocked at how...different...she was than the usual targets. Her features were soft and not plain but not anything to make a fuss over...but...she was beautiful. In his opinion, anyway.  
He shook his head. What the hell? Never get involved. She's ugly. And a bitch. The ugliest skank that ever walked the planet.  
Well, at least he could have fun with placing the cameras in her house, if nothing else.


	5. Evil and a Heathen

Jackson cleared his throat and checked his watch for the fourth time in the past ten minutes. He craned his neck as far as he could out the car window without looking conspicuous and, seeing nothing, sank back into the plush leather interior of his silver BMW. Dammit, where was she? He sighed loudly and pulled out his notepad.

Day 52

Lisa Target leaves house approx. eight am

Target attends work

Target arrives home at six pm

Target goes inside

Target

Jackson ran a hand through his hair. She was in her bathroom, he knew that much. In a last clinging effort to be a gentleman he hadn't placed cameras there. He had to have some dignity, after all. She'd been in there, doing God only knows what, for the past hour, almost. He knew girls took a long time getting ready, but Lisa never went anywhere, especially not anywhere that required sixty minutes preparation. Ah...wait...make that sixty-one.

Usually her only ventures were to work, the store, and her father's. Occasionally he'd get caught off guard when she went to the corner café for a drink. One drink. Always the same beverage, and only one. Never enough to get drunk.

"Shy, conservative Lisa Reisert," Jackson mumbled with a smirk as he doodled absently on his notepad.

She didn't have a boyfriend. Or at least if she did, he was incredibly neglectful. Jackson never saw a man around other than her father or the occasional hopeful coworker. They never got anywhere, though, and for some reason this always put a smile on his face.

A smile, a genuine one, not one of the fake, toothy ones he plastered on for his boss and the victims. And it was an odd thing for Rippner, a strange thing indeed, a smile was, for it always ended up looking like he'd just ingested Lysol.

He jumped as he heard the front door slam. Shit. He sat completely upright in his seat and winced as Lisa's eyes shot to him, sitting in his car. Damn. He hadn't had time to slouch down. Jackson plastered a fake smile on his face so as not to require Lisa to alert Poison Control and stepped out of the car.

"Hi," he smiled broadly as he strolled up to her. He noticed her entire body tense and fought back a sigh. What was it with women, always terrified of him? All the good ones, anyway...

"_My name's Jackson," he said politely, shaking her hand. He could almost feel Chloe's skin crawl and it kind of hurt. It figured, the only girl he'd liked in five years and she was scared of him._

_It seemed as if only whores and Barbie dolls were attracted to him. Sure, he knew he was hot, but still. He wanted more than looks in a girl. Although those were a strong contributing factor._

_Chloe had long, flowing black tresses and light skin. As light as his, as a matter of fact. She had huge dark eyes and a petite frame. Jackson thought maybe he was in love with her...or maybe in lust. Love had never really seemed possible for him._

_In school he'd often been called gay. He wasn't sure why, it wasn't like he'd ever looked longingly at any classmates with an ounce of testosterone. Of course, he didn't ever date a girl until he was sixteen, so that may have been why, and she didn't go to his school. Of course not. His first girlfriend had actually been a busty assassin at the Organization. Yeah, they all loved Dana._

_But back to Chloe. He first saw her, ironically, in the same café he'd met Wendi with an 'I' in. Of course, he wasn't putting on a facade for Chloe, spare the smile. He really did like this girl, with her soft-spoken ways and her sugar packet sculptures. The first time he'd approached her she'd jumped so high the Splenda had flown halfway across the room. Even at twenty-one he was scary._

And here, five years later, he stood causing a repeat performance as he scared the shit out of Lisa Reisert.

"Hi," he said innocently. "I was looking for the Reisert residence?" He chose a business-like air.

"Oh, that's me," she smiled politely. "How can I help you?"

Time to make himself inconspicuous, and someone she wouldn't remember. "Oh, I'm doing a survey," Jackson improvised. "Do you own any pets?"

"I have a cat, Rosalind," Lisa frowned.

"I see...how old is your cat?" Hm. He was pretty good at this. If the murdering-people-for-money thing ever fell through he'd have to consider telemarketing.

"She's four," Lisa answered. "Um, what did you say your name was?"

"Mick," Jackson invented. "Mick Jackson. Thank you for your time, miss. Someone will be approaching you shortly about purchasing our product." He tipped his head politely as she uttered a goodbye and got into his car, still feeling slightly dazed. He pulled down a few streets and then began following Lisa to her mystery destination, slightly elated at his brief discussion with her. Her voice, her eyes...wow.

He scolded himself. Eyes on the prize, Jackson. Finish the job, and then, when its done, you can have your fun.


	6. Fade Together

Jackson eased open the café door and pulled up a stool at the counter. His eyes never left Lisa's solitary figure at the tiny table.  
She was the perfect image of a dramatic, standoffish café writer. Drink at her side, pen in hand, hunched over a small notepad. Only Jackson would know this as completely abnormal for her.  
He was outlandishly confused, something he rarely admitted to. He was desperate to know what she was writing. Poetry? A letter? Taxes? Who knew.  
Whenever Lisa came to the café, she had only one quick drink and left, no words to anyone except the bartender. It was pointless, Jackson realized. Why come to a bar if not to socialize or get wasted?  
But tonight was different. Within an hour of her arrival she'd downed three drinks. Her eyes were glazed over and the notebook had been pocketed half a drink ago. But the men.  
They'd begun coming as soon as she'd sat down. She'd stiffly acknowledged them in her usual manner, with a tight smile and a quiet response. Then they would begrudgingly leave. Every girl that Jackson knew, every single one, whenever they became inebriated they'd lighten up or at least dance a bit. But Lisa didn't. She just sat and drank, like she was...drinking away memories.  
She made what could have been a fatal mistake a while later which took Jackson several minutes to notice. She tripped off to the restroom and left her drink unattended.  
Jackson wasn't a girl. He hadn't taken Sex Ed, and he didn't have a mother to tell him these things. But as an assassin he knew that one of the worst things a woman could do was to leave her drink alone. But then..didn't every girl know that?  
He saw the man sidling away from her table but didn't put two and two together. It wasn't until Lisa began walking out of the café (Jackson, obviously, a safe distance behind) that the same man began following her.  
Lisa turned onto an alleyway on the way to the parking lot and leaned against the wall, seemingly dizzy. She pressed a weak hand to her head as Jackson stopped walking, hiding himself behind the corner as the man stepped out from behind a row of cars.  
It hit him then, like a sack of potatoes. After that sickening realization it didn't take long for Jack to act.  
Jackson ran out as Lisa turned and collapsed to the ground. It happened so beautifully it was almost as if it was choreographed. His fist collided sharply with the side of the man's head, making a sickening crunch. Oops, there goes the skull. He didn't have three years of training for nothing, after all. Several yells and a Ka-Bar later, the man was dead. Now to take care of poor, intoxicated Lisa.  
Jackson grunted as he lifted her against his chest. Geez, she was heavy. Her eyelids fluttered and she unceremoniously wrapped her arms around the stranger's neck.  
He prayed she didn't remember "Mick Jackson" from two hours previous. He didn't think that she did, however, in her drunken state, and didn't put much in store for her remembering this night either. Maybe he could-no. She would definitely remember that.  
Jackson gently set her in the backseat of his car and shut the door as quietly as possible. He didn't want to wake her. Conversationmemories.  
Unfortunately the muffled slam stirred her.  
"Who are you?" she moaned quietly as he buckled his seatbelt. Jackson froze.  
"A friend," he answered after a long pause. The answer must have satisfied her as she said nothing. He turned on the car and began driving.  
A ways down she spoke again.  
"It was my fault," she said to no one. As if in a dream. "Daddy asked me over. But I was mad at him. So I said no. And I didn't have groceries for my lunch so I went to Publix to buy some. And then in the parking lot..." she was sobbing now, in her sleep. Jackson frowned and chewed his lip. Was she dreaming? Was this her fiction...or reality?He finally pulled the car up in front of her house and lifted her out. Again she warmed to him as he stepped into the house. He knew where her hidden key was. Lisa was always forgetting it and by default she alerted him to the hiding place in the potted fern.  
Once in her bedroom he laid her down in the bed and managed to pull the comforter to her chest. He took one look at her tearstained and delusional face before he turned to the door and began to leave. Her small voice stopped him.  
"Wait," she whispered. "Don't leave me. Please. He'll come back."  
The man from the bar? Jackson inferred as much. He paused, his hand sliding from the doorframe. It couldn't hurt. Whoever he was to her, an angel or a hallucination..she needed him. And he'd never been needed before.  
Jackson moved back to her bedside and brushed a curl from her face.  
"Sh," he soothed her. "I'll stay." At least until she fell asleep. He told himself it was out of necessity. For the first hour at least she was exceptionally subject to vomiting and if she was on her back she'd choke. He needed to keep an eye on her.  
As she began dozing he eased himself off the side of the bed and moved into her bathroom.  
"Advil, ibuprofen, Equate..." Jackson cursed as he sifted through the tampons and deodorant. Finally at the back of her medicine drawer he found a small bottle of painkillers. He shook out two and set them on her bedside table along with a glass of water. She'd need them when she awoke. And after all, she'd probably just think she put them there.  
Next he pulled a cool washcloth and placed it on her head. She smiled in her sleep and he fought back a genuine smile and tiptoed out to her living room.  
It was immaculately clean, almost sickeningly so. Her house wasn't large by any means, but decorated so chic and plainly that it made it seem so. Her movies and books and cds were lined up in an organized fashion on a rack. He curiously pawed through them, making sure not to knock them over. Lisa would have a fit.  
Lisa would have a fit. Sounded like an old married couple, or something.  
He froze and shook the thought away as he glanced at movie titles. 28 Days Later. Batman Begins. Hey, that guy kind of looked like him...too skinny though. Never mind. Ew. Girly man, there...OH GOD. His eye caught the title of another with the same actor. Breakfast on Pluto. Good God, was he wearing...lipstick? Jackson quickly pushed the movie back into place and repressed a shudder.  
The cds were just as shocking. He'd expected bhangra or Celtic music, maybe she'd get a little daring and be a Carrie Underwood kind of gal if he was lucky. But no. It was rock. All rock. The Beatles, Flogging Molly, Franz Ferdinand, Kings of Leon...wow. Scary.  
Jackson raised an eyebrow and turned away from the shelves. He needed to get away from this before he had a heart attack. Funny how he'd already stalked her for four weeks and didn't know this. Maybe he needed more time.  
Or maybe...wanted more time. Lisa was the first target that he hadn't been bored watching. Funny thing was, she had the most boring schedule. Jackson turned suddenly to return to her room and his elbow connected with a vase. It crashed to the floor and he winced, his ears perking for a sound of movement in the bedroom. After roughly five minutes of waiting he bent over and began cleaning up the broken pieces. Damn. shiite. Damnshiiteshiite. Oh well. Hopefully she'd think she'd done it herself. Or her cat. Where was the son of a bitch tiger anyway?  
Jackson scraped up the pieces and dumped them in the garbage, covering them with paper. Couldn't let her see them, at least.  
_"Sh. Just don't tell her," Christina giggled as the ten year old boy sheepishly tied the garbage bag.  
"We'll get in trouble! I don't want to get yelled at!"  
"Jack, sweetie, I'll take the blame," she said, bravely puffing out her chest. He giggled and heaved the heavy Hefty bag over his shoulder. It was so heavy it knocked the small child over. Christina gasped and ran to his side, peering into his face.  
"You okay, Jackson?"  
"Yeah," he giggled. "I fell."  
"Obviously." The laughs never stopped. They laughed until their chests heaved, until they had tears of joy running down their faces. Jackson took one long look at Christina as she chuckled and felt a sense of comfort. Love. Elation. Christina was his only friend. The only person that was nice to him.  
The door was thrown open and the principal walked in, her five chins quivering menacingly. She eyed a piece of pottery on the floor, one the dynamic duo had missed. Jackson froze, his laugh cut short. He darted away from the doorway as she grabbed him up by his collar and sent a walloping blow to his head. As his ears began ringing he heard only glimpses of her angry screams.  
"...third time..."  
"...bad influence..."  
"...unacceptable..."  
"...punishment..."  
And then some of Christina's.  
"...not his fault..."  
"...just a pot..."  
"...mine not his..."  
"...don't fire me..."_  
He'd hoped they wouldn't. When his bruises had subsided he discovered she'd only been demoted. Back to the lowly janitorial position. But at least she had a job.  
It was then that things had changed. As trivial and repetitive that situation had been, it changed Jackson. He saw Christina less, but thought of her more. Three years, it was, before he was visited by the Company. Three years he had thought unrelentingly of Christina and her laugh. The last two years he'd spent a lot of time with her, though. But only he knew of that.  
Jackson sighed. He'd be lying if he said he'd never had a girlfriend until he was sixteen. Christina couldn't be counted as that, after all...it was secret. But it was fun. Very fun indeed.  
By a sharp cry from Lisa in the bedroom he snapped his attention into focus. Time to check on baby...  
She was sobbing, her breaths ragged and harsh. Jackson frowned and sat down on the bed next to her.  
"...all...all my fault...I'm a whore..."  
Jackson shushed her and rubbed a comforting circular pattern on her back. Her breathing began to return to normal but the tears still came. Finally, with a sigh, he subconsciously laid down next to her, pulling the comforter over his body, and pulled her into his arms. She curled up against him and he placed his head gently on hers..  
"Sh...sh...it's okay. I'm here."  
"You're here...thank...thank you..." she began muttering as she drifted back to sleep. He caught only one more word until he himself fell asleep. "My savior."  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
He awoke near the early morning hours and cursed as he quietly removed Lisa's hand from his chest. Dammnit, what had they done? They hadn't...done...that, but he'd spent the whole night here. And she wasn't drunk anymore. In fact, she was very much aware and would most likely be waking up soon. Jackson eased himself quickly out of bed and ran outside to his car, making sure to lock the door behind him. He didn't breathe again until he was back in his car, slouched down in case she looked out the window. Phew.  
And that was his one-night stand with Lisa Reisert.


	7. You're the Reason I'm Leaving

Jackson's heart nearly skipped a beat as he saw Lisa awaken. He would have scolded himself if it hadn't become so commonplace for him.  
He told himself that feeling this way was abnormal. Assassins weren't supposed to fall in love. In fact, if there were a rule book it would probably be number one on the list.  
But Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisa...her eyes, her hair, everything about her was...amazing. He'd fallen. Fallen hard.  
It's not love, he reminded himself. It's a mere physical, animalistic attraction. Like with Christina. 

_"Jackson," she whispered, pushing back his hair. "I can't do this."  
He silenced her with a kiss. "You are."  
"But I shouldn't. It's crazy."  
"Crazy, illegal, treacherous, barbaric, who the hell cares?"  
"I could lose my job."  
"Again, who gives a shiite?"  
"I do."  
Jackson sat up and glanced at the clock in the small room.  
"shiite." He began pulling his shirt over his head.  
"Where are you going?" No answer. He started on his shoes.  
"Jackson?"  
Still silence.  
"JACKSON."  
He turned around quickly. "None of your goddamn business!" He snapped sharply. Christina looked away, her eyes watery.  
"I'm sorry," he grumbled. "But I can't tell you."  
"Wait. You're leaving the orphanage?"  
"Yeah."  
"Why?"  
"A man gave me a job, I took it. Pays well."  
"Doing what?"  
"I'd tell you but I honestly don't think your stomach can handle it," Jackson smirked as he ran a hand through his messed up hair. Christina stood.  
"Tell me." Jackson looked at her and clicked his tongue.  
"Ever heard of John Wilkes Booth?" Christina nodded, frowning. Jackson leaned down to playfully whisper in her ear.  
"Who do you think sent him?"  
Christina's face turned a ghastly white. "What do you mean?"  
"I'm not saying anymore."  
"So...how long are you going to be gone?" He was glad she dropped the job matter. He wasn't sure how much he was allowed to say.  
"Forever." Christina laughed but caught the look on Jackson's solemn face and cut it short.  
"You're joking." He shook his head.  
"No. Bye." He began to leave but she grabbed his arm.  
"Jackson, wait. What has this been then, between us, if you're never going to see me again?"  
Jackson didn't reply.  
"Jackson, answer me, dammit!"No answer. A harsh slap across the face. "freak, Jack!"  
She silenced as he backhanded her and she sprawled to the floor. He wrenched open her bedroom door and began to leave.  
"Don't call me Jack. Not now, not ever."_


	8. Do You Want To

"I've got it."  
"The wallet?"  
"Yeah. JR, right?"  
"Yup. We played our cards right on this one, let me tell you." Jackson leaned to peer into Lisa's house. The lights were dimmed ever so slightly as she vacuumed through the house. Jackson frowned. Talk about proactive hangovers...  
"So you're throwing it sometime this week, right?"  
"Yeah. Just waiting for the right time."  
"You'd better hurry. Boss is getting pissed."  
Jackson's jaw clenched. He knew that much all too well from his phone call that morning.

_"I need more time."  
"Excuse me?"  
"I think..." Jackson gnawed the end of his pen and glanced at the house. "I think there's more to her than I originally thought."  
"Such as?"  
Jackson paused hesitantly. He suer as hell couldn't tell his boss of his evening spent with little Miss America but how else...  
"She's got some secrets. I think its crucial to this job that we know absolutely everything."  
"Or is it that you're getting attached?"  
Jackson's stomach twisted horribly. "No."  
"Remember, Jackson..."  
"I know. I don't get attached."  
"That, and if you freak up one more job you're gone."  
"Excuse me?" He was sick of employment termination threats.  
"The murder of that girl's sister nearly got us found out. Because guess who's fingerprints were found in the house?" Oh shiite. Jackson cringed but didn't answer.  
"Guess, Rippner."  
"Mine."  
"Right you are. So guess what that means, if you screw up again?"  
"Um..." Jackson confusedly ruffled his hair. "I have no idea. No more medical coverage?"  
"No, Jack. No coverage at all. As in...you go."  
"I don't understand...I get fired?"  
"Think of it as getting fired, yeah. But this time its not your job you'll lose. It's your life."  
Jackson froze, his mouth going completely dry. Finally he cleared his raspy throat and spoke.  
"Oh. Well..."  
"Just hurry up." Click._

"I'm not going to screw up. Have you seen her picture?"  
A sigh. "Yes, Jack, I-"  
"So you've seen how small she is then? And I've watched her. She's a pushover, a people pleaser, a lightweight. So just...lay off me, okay?"  
"Fine." Another click.  
Jackson sighed and leaned back in his seat as Lisa began dusting. Suddenly, her phone rang and the tracker in his car picked it up. He sat back up, abruptly hitting his head on the roof of the car."Hello?"  
"Leese, its Dad."  
"Hey, Dad," Jackson could almost feel her frown. "What's wrong?"  
"It's Henrietta."  
"Grandma? What happened?"  
"She died, Leese. Last night."  
"Oh my god..."  
"Your mom just called. She was trying to get through to you but you were online, or something..."  
"Yeah, I was faxing some stuff to the hotel earlier. So when is the funeral?"  
"This weekend. Are you going to go?"  
"Yeah, I'd better. Mom will need me. I'll get on the first flight I can to Dallas. Oh, but crap...the Keefes are coming this weekend. Well, I'll just fly back right after the funeral."  
"Okay, honey."  
"Are you going?"  
A pause. Jackson knew what that meant. Tensions were still high between Lisa's parents. "No, sweetie, I don't think so. Give your mom my best, though."  
"I'll do that."  
Jackson smiled smugly. This was just the kind of coincidence he needed.


	9. What You Meant

Jackson's watch alarm beeped early in the morning, jolting him from a doze. He rubbed his eyes, cursing. He wasn't supposed to have fallen asleep. Sleep time was for when Lisa was at work.  
He grinned as he realized today was Black Tuesday. Perfect Miss Lisa was leaving today for her flight out to the funeral. Little did she know that Jackson would be tagging along to pay his respects to Henrietta. Oh, and terrorize her on an airplane. But that was for later.  
She was up within moments of him, and ready to leave within an hour. Jackson pulled out as she was locking the door behind her. No need to watch her drive to the airport, it would only prove monotony.  
His phone rang when he was stopped at the airport.  
"shiite." He checked his watch. 6:30 AM, the flight left at seven. He sighed and answered it.  
"Rippner."  
"Hi, Jackson." A soft, melodic voice. Uncannily similar to Lisa's. Or the only other woman he'd ever cared about, the only...  
"Chris?"  
"First try. Nice job, Jack." Something sounded bitter in her tired voice. No surprise, it had been fifteen years.  
"How did you get this number?"  
"It doesn't matter."  
Jackson cleared his throat. "Is there anything I can do for you? I mean, I have this job soon..."  
"Screw that. We need to talk."  
"After fifteen years you can't wait a day?"  
"No, I can't." He detected the urgency in Christina's voice and surrendered.  
"Fine," he sighed. "My flight leaves in twenty-five minutes. What can I do for you?"  
Christina got right to the point. "Why did you leave me?"  
Her words stung Jackson so much he leaned back, the air knocked from his chest. "I had to, Christy. My job, was, is, highly confidential. I can't have any relationships."  
"Including me?" her voice cracked. "You don't remember what you said, that first night? Do you?"  
Jackson wracked his brain until it stumbled upon the answer. Oh. He'd said... "I...don't...I don't know..."  
"Bullshiite. You said you loved me."  
"I don't see your point."  
"You don't walk out on your lover and not contact them for fifteen years. Or do you not mean what you said? Was this just a one-night stand thing for you?" Try a fifty-six night stand.  
"Chris, I..." he ran a disgruntled hand through his hair. "I don't know what you were to me, alright? I know I definitely had very strong feelings for you then."  
"And now?"  
He chewed his lip. "It's been a long time, Christina."  
"And now?"  
He waited a long time to answer, choosing his words carefully. "There's someone else," he muttered, guiltily bowing his head.  
"Oh."  
"I'm sorry."  
"It's fine. I never was right for you The age difference and everything. I just wish...I wish I'd had some closure. Before you left?"  
"I'm sorry." Broken record.  
"I wish her luck." Yup. Lisa would need it tonight."I do, too."  
"So...can you...I just want to know..."  
"I can't talk about my job. I'm sorry. But I can't."  
"Whatever," Christina sighed.  
"Why did you call me now anyway?" he was growing exasperated. Fifteen minutes until the plane took off. He began gathering up his bags and opened the door. Jack wasn't prepared for the next reply.  
"I'm dying, Jackson."  
He froze. "I have cancer. Rare type, leukemia. They found it three years ago and its recently developed to a terminal point. I wanted closure."  
His steps slowed to a complete halt. He felt a dry tension in his chest.  
"Chris, I...I'm so sorry," he whispered.  
"I love you, Jackson. I th ink maybe I always will." Click.  
Jackson brushed the tears from his crystalline eyes and entered the terminal, his face stoney.

XZXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"My condolences, Miss Reisert."  
"...a lovely woman, Lisa..."  
"...back in '72, we..."  
Jackson was picking up the snippets of conversation, but he wasn't really listening.. Christina's words kept replaying in his head. She was sick and he'd never get to see her again. Unless he could find a way to fly out there before...no. He had to remain a businessman, he couldn't just fall to pieces.  
It was with relief that Jackson noted the funeral was over. Lisa hugged her father one last time and hailed a cab. Jackson started the engine of his rental car and followed to the Dallas airport.  
He could regret later.  
For now, it was time to play.


	10. Darts of Pleasure

**Author's Note-A short little chapter. We're almost done, maybe two chapters left, and it will get a little more emotional and, yes, cheesy. So HA! Please review, my faithful….reviewers. Cheers.**

"You don't have to do this."

_Oh, yes, I do,_ Jackson wanted to snarl back at her. He couldn't believe her naivety. What a simpering, sheltered little girl, hardly a woman yet. How could she be so stupid? Why couldn't she just make the fucking call and get it over with? It was an easy deal, one that a child could understand. But not Lisa. Obviously she fell into the ritual of "pretty women are stupid girls".

Out of boredom his hand dropped down to her chest. She sucked her breath in sharply and he nearly smirked at her reaction, but when he saw the puckering red scar beneath the white fabric his stomach convulsed.

_What the fuck?_

He looked at her, searching her eyes. In a strange way he could almost see it played out behind the green. Something. Something bad. Someone hurt her. Hurt her emotionally. Mugging? Nah. That wouldn't have lasting side effects….rape.

"Is that what it is?" he whispered. He couldn't hide the covetousness and envy in his voice. How he wanted….no. He didn't want that. She was just another girl. Some poor client who just happened to have fallen in with the wrong sort of company. He should feel no pity whatsoever.

"No," she clenched her jaw defiantly and something in him snapped. How dare she lie to him! About something so meaningless in his job!

He whirled her around and slammed her against the sink. He felt her weaken slightly in his grip as the plastic collided with her spine. She moaned a little and even though it was a groan of pain it kind of turned Jackson on. He clutched her throat menacingly, knowing that with a little more pressure he could easily kill her.

But he didn't. Instead he confronted her with the information he knew, what he knew about her lies and how stupid she was. As she was gasping the 'way to state the obvious', "I can't breathe, I can't breathe", he released her and let her slump against the wall as she sucked in air like a fish out of water.

His anger had subsided. He calmly washed the mirror, and then fixed his shirt. Always had to look the part. His hair was messy now, but that could definitely play to his advantage. He tugged his shirt a little on the end to make it pop out a bit.

"Well," he muttered to the cowering girl next to him. "Thanks for the quickie." He let the sarcasm be obvious in his voice and fought a grin as he stepped into the narrow hallway. "Come on."

She walked ahead of him. He moved to follow but the flight attendant stopped him, administering the sort of harangue he had hoped for. "This isn't a motel."

He fed her his trademark smug smile and a 'sure', and then followed Lisa back to their seats.


	11. The Fallen

Author's Note-So we skipped a few hours and are now back at the house. I figured it would be pointless just to go through the whole phonecall/landing, etc, as we all have watched the movie. Obviously, otherwise we wouldn't be writing freaking FANFICTION. So here it is. :) Jackson is maaaad.

His breath was ragged, something that he believed hindered him in this stalking of Lisa. She couldn't hear him. His knife was long and sharp. He couldn't wait to kill her after all the trouble she'd caused him. Two holes she'd given him, one in his throat, one in his leg. He'd kill her.

Or worse than kill her. He'd maim her to within inches of death and then cause her to relive her worst nightmare. The one she'd confessed to him about, to make him weak and vulnerable. Idiot he was, he had fallen for it. He'd bring that back to her….and then he'd kill her. By then it would be a relief.

He was tempted to utter her name in a singsong voice. "Liiisa….Liiiisa…" Play with her. Like he had at the orphanage as a child. Stalking his next victim. But he couldn't be found. He smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. Shh…must be quiet, Jack. Time to play. Time to play with Leese.

Instead he played a game in his head while he lay in wait behind the door.

A for airplane, which he'd terrorized her on.

B for bottle of water. He drank it and watched her cry.

C for the crimson blood on his body. That would soon cover hers.

D for the day that she would rue crossing him.

E for empty. His eyes, maybe his heart.

F for friend, what he'd pretended to be to her.

G for girl. All that she was. A stupid girl.

H for happy. What neither of them ever were.

I for ignorance, how he was ignorant of her true fire.

J for joy, what he would feel when she died.

K for kill. Oh, how he couldn't wait.

L for lies. The web she had woven.

M for money. Yes, he'd be paid.

N for nuts. He'd had peanuts on the flight.

O for oval. The shape of her breasts.

P for pressure. His hands on her neck.

Q for questions. Her questions never ending.

R for red. The color of her hair. How he hated her hair.

S for Seabreeze. Her supposed drink.

T for time. He had all the time in the world.

U for ugly. She was so ugly.

V for vendetta. He'd win in the end.

W for wimp. That's all she really was.

X for x-ternal. That's all he felt for her. Just physical desire.

Y for yellow, the color of her teeth.

Z for…..

Shit. What could Z stand for? Oh, well.

He swung the door open and faced his opponent. Time to play.


	12. Take Me Out

**Author's Note**-Here it is, the last chapter. Two different POVs. Hope you liked! Please review, my awesome ones!

And then it was over. He lay, flopping like a fish and feeling triumph only in the fact that Lisa's floor would probably be stained forever. His eyes rolled this way and that as Lisa loomed over him, searching his face.

_I'm sorry._ He wished he could vocalize it. He was. He was sorry he ever lived. Death would be a comforting relief, even though he knew where he was headed. Maybe not. Maybe God would have mercy on him. He never should have gotten involved with that stupid company. He'd thrived on violence and bloodlust, and look where it had gotten him. The killer had been killed.

Jackson's eyes rolled involuntarily back. It worked out well, though. As if he were telling Lisa how much of an idiot he was. It wasn't that he'd felt things for her, only the physical. When he'd looked longingly at her, he'd seen Christina.

Christina. How he missed her. As Jackson looked once more at Lisa's face, he only saw his long lost lover.

_I'll be seeing you soon, my dear. Forever and ever._

And then Jackson Rippner, failed assassin, succumbed to the unrelenting blackness.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Christina's phone buzzed as she was waking up.

"Yes?"

She screamed.

"Yes, I'll be right there."

It was a short drive to Miami, only about an hour. She felt weakened and numb. Jackson was dead. Her only love. Was. Dead.

Her flipflops were silent on the cold dark tile of the morgue.

"Ms. Smith?"

Christina jumped and turned.

"I'm sorry to scare you."

Christina vigorously shook her head. "No-its-I'm fine." She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension, and clutched her purse tightly in her other hand.

"Follow me, then."

Jackson's body was partially covered in a sheet. She saw his chest, neck, and face, and knew it was him. She could have identified him by only a single hair on his head. It was Jackson. She covered her mouth and suppressed a sob.

"Ma'am?"

Christina's eyes traveled upward to meet the doctor's. "Yes."

"Yours was the last in his contacts on his phone, other than a few untraceables, so we assumed you knew him."

She nodded limply.

"Relation?"

She didn't speak.

"Ma'am?"

"Ex…..his friend," she muttered flatly. "We were friends. A long time ago."

"I…see. Can you confirm this body as Jackson Rippner's?"

"What would happen if I said no?" she was in a testy mood.

"Well, we would confront Ms. Reisert again, and see if she was telling the 100 truth about her case. Is this not Jackson Rippner?"

She sighed, filled with a sudden anger. "No. Its definitely him."

"Okay, then. We'll need you to fill out some paperwork, then…."

But Christina didn't hear him. Her brain was already whirring. She needed to find this girl.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When she was done at the hospital Christina headed for the police station. She assumed this Lisa Reisert bitch would be there, so soon after her 'ordeal'. She'd heard the whole story from the cops.

Maybe Jackson was led slightly astray. He was a good person. But Lisa Reisert hurt him. And she needed to talk to her.

Lisa Reisert was heading out. She got into her car, and Christina followed. She pulled up in front of an apartment building, and Christina followed.

Christina waited in her car until Lisa had settled in inside. It was another couple of hours before she went into the building.

She smashed the window and wasn't surprised when no alarm sounded. It was a cheap building.

The sound didn't carry into the underlying rooms. Christina stalked into the girl's bedroom. She was sound asleep, curled into a fetal position with her mouth slightly ajar, and clutching a small plush rabbit. _How cute._

Christina pulled the shotgun from her pocket and cocked it, then aimed at Lisa's head. The silencer prohibited any sound, and Christina looked at Lisa disinterestedly as blood seeped from her head onto her pillowcase.

"You killed my only love," Christina crooned to her, covering the girl with a sheet. "So I killed you." And with that, Christina raised the gun to her head and died a painless death. Her last thought was simple.

_Jackson, here I come._


End file.
